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“Master Niwa! Master Niwa! We’ve heard the news! Congratulations!”
The blacksmiths’ jubilant chatter could be heard several meters away. Although taken by surprise, Niwa Hisahide was nevertheless touched by such attention from his subordinates. Truly, in the small bustling community of Tatarasuna rumors spread rapidly.
“Oh, come now, really…” the chief smiled sheepishly, ruffling the hair at his nape, "I thank you from the bottom of my heart."
“Do you know yet when we can expect it?” inquired one of the smiths.
“The midwife says it will be at least six more months.”
“We hope the Electro Archon will grant you a successor. To carry on the blacksmith's work, an heir to Ishin art!”, several other smiths chimed in unison.
“Be it he or she," interjected Katsuragi in a serious tone as his head appeared out of the crowd, “Or if they decide to do something else for living, I’m sure their path shall be blessed by Narukami!"
His words were met with laughter so loud, that it caught the attention of a small frame in white kariginu robes, stopping in the middle of the graveled path.
Kabukimono watched the gathering from the sidelines with interest. He didn’t know what they were exactly talking about, but their faces looked particularly happy. It seemed the occasion was a special one, and one they were well aware of. The youth was about to approach them, but held back at the last moment. Would it be too strange to ask about something so obvious? Most likely, he thought.
Putting his curiosity aside for the time being, he decides to wait and speak to Niwa directly once the blacksmiths will begin returning to their work. He certainly wouldn’t judge him.
After all, he was one of the few who knew his secret.
Once the path had cleared and the buzzing settled a bit, Kabukimono stepped up to the chief, hands behind his back.
“Master Niwa,” he asked somewhat timidly, lifting his inquisitive eyes at the man who had been left to his own devices. “Everyone has been congratulating you… Is there, perhaps, some kind of celebration going on today?”
“Well, indeed there is,” the head blacksmith smiled gently, meeting his gaze, “You see, my dear Kabukimono, I am soon to become a father. I am expecting a child.”
Hearing this, the youth tilted his head to one side in bewilderment.
“I’m sorry… I don’t really understand what that means.”
At first, Niwa was slightly taken aback but then it suddenly dawned on him. His little friend, after all, wasn’t a human. Not physically, at least. It was perfectly understandable that such things would be unfamiliar to him.
“Oh, don’t be. Of course, I suppose I ought to explain this to you.”
The chief began to gather his thoughts, having no idea how to approach the subject. Kabukimono, in his opinion, was still far too young (or too innocent?) to be frank with him on such matters. He wanted to soften the information for him, whilst remaining as truthful as possible. What should he do…? Maybe, a practical example would be the best way to go about it?
”Let’s start, uh, with what a ‘father’ is,” he coughs, after a brief pause. “That’s the term given to a person who, just like a ‘mother’, er… creates a child by giving up a part of themselves. After a certain period of time, the child is born into the world and then, after even more time, grows up becoming just like me.”
“Okay… And what is a ‘mother’?” Kabukimono’s brow arched in question.
The man hesitated, searching for the right words. After all, his newfound little friend had a very sharp mind.
“You’ve said once that your creator placed you in that underground manor, south-east from here, right?” he continues, after thinking another second, intending to draw an analogy, “I suppose you could consider her as your ‘mother’. Consequently, you are her ‘child’, the one she brought into this world.”
The youth had gone very still, pondering about what had been said. His hand reached out of its own accord towards the golden quill resting around his neck. Delicate fingers gently traced the ornament that holds immense significance for him. Holds the sadness left unaddressed.
“So, are you saying… your ‘child’ is a creation that came from you?” he concluded at last.
“Not only from me, but yes. Broadly speaking, that’s correct.”
Niwa chuckled softly, feeling a touch of awkwardness. But then, his expression changes, becomes more… serene. He sighed, turning his gaze towards the blue afternoon sky. The wind ruffles his chestnut hair with a scarlet strand on the right side and he falls silent for a moment, listening to the rustling of leaves swept along by the breeze.
“One day, when my time will pass, they’ll be the one to carry on the path in my stead. My hopes, my dreams… I shall entrust all of it to them. Where I falter, they will succeed. What I could not finish, they will complete.”
Realising he was beginning to ramble, the chief instantly pulled himself together. He gave his friend an earnest smile, meeting his puzzled look.
“Ha-ha, just listen to me! I sound just like an old man,” he chuckles again, covering his forehead with a palm.
“No, not at all! I’m sure that’s exactly how it will be,” Kabukimono hastened to object, shaking his head left and right, “After all, you’re their creator. You deserve to have your legacy carried on!”
“Thank you. You are very kind.”
He placed his free hand on the top of the young man’s head and began to stroke his hair. Dusting off the sacred sakura petals, entangled there because of the breeze.
“When my child is born, I’ll be happy if they grow up to be like you.”
A heartfelt smile blossomed on Niwa’s face, the most beautiful thing the youth had ever seen. He had rarely witnessed anything like it, let alone from the head of Tatarasuna himself.
Something tiny and elusive fluttered in Kabukimono’s empty chest. It felt like a finch flapping its wings against his ribcage. He froze for a moment, trying to define this sensation, to understand it.
Where did it come from…? After all, he had no heart.
The young one did not know the answer to this question. Yet, caught in this feeling, he realised he could not help but smile in response.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
“…Ha-ha-ha. I wonder what he’d say now?”
Far from prying eyes, in the shade of a giant brightwood tree, two people were sitting, chatting about the distant, almost nonexistent past. The Wanderer, having set his wide-brimmed hat aside, listened to the whispers of the wind, back resting against a thick root.
“I think he’d say you’ve come a long way.” The golden-haired Traveler pointed out, while sitting right beside him. She propped her head in her hands, resting on her knees drawn up to her chest.
The puppet responded with a sarcastic burst of laughter, throwing his head back.
“He’d be furious. If I were in his shoes, I certainly would be.”
“Is that what you think, or do you know for sure?” Lumine asks, turning her gaze towards him.
The warm gold of her eyes meets the icy indigo of his. At first, there was no reply. The puppet lifts his head, staring into the canopy above them, unsure of what to even say. Perhaps he’d like to believe otherwise, but that would be nothing more than a palatable lie.
Running away from an ugly truth will achieve nothing.
“It doesn’t matter now. I didn’t live up to his expectations. I destroyed them with my own two hands.”
The Wanderer took a short, noisy breath before carrying on. The golden-haired girl listens patiently, noticing barely visible changes in her companion; cracks in the jaded facade that were revealed to her and her alone.
“There’s nothing I’d like to pass on to anyone. No one will continue my journey in my stead. After my death, memories of me will be washed away by the flow of time, like footprints in the sand.”
A bitter smile twisted his lips with every word he spoke. The former serenity on his face began to crumble, revealing to the girl a soul, fragile as an eggshell.
“And no one will be glad that I was ever born into this world.” He began to laugh softly, but there was nothing but a deep sorrow in his voice, “A fitting end for a sinner like me…”
In the blink of an eye, he felt Lumine’s hand brushing his shoulder and gently drawing him close. The Wanderer turned his puzzled face towards her, but made no move to pull away. His indigo eyes met the gold of hers again; so warm and tender, like evening sunlight.
“You’re no angel. You’ve done things… Much of which cannot be undone.” Lumine sighed, falling quiet for a moment. A gentle, kind smile touched her lips. “But even so, despite everything, I’m glad that you were born. And I’m sure Niwa was, too.”
The puppet turns away from her, snorting under his breath. Foolish girl. She’s talking nonsense again. Why on earth does she have to be glad about that? Even he himself would have preferred never to be born at all. At those words, at her pupils staring, whatever lay within his empty chest, it felt as though it were being squeezed in a vice.
It hurts.
Tears begin to roll down his cheeks of their own accord, for reasons unknown. He was positive they’d long since dried up, as there were no reasons left to cry for. Nothing has remained, not even regrets. So why, then…?
It hurts…
He couldn’t stop. Or, perhaps, he didn’t even want to anymore… The chest cavity burns like a fire inside of the lonesome tiny shack. Puppet's shoulders slightly trembled with occasional, inaudible sobs, while Lumine simply held him in her arms, making no attempt to interrupt. Her cheek is pressed against his back, as the wind picks up somewhere amidst the tree leaves.
“Let it all out, miracle child of Eternity. Whatever is weighing you down, I shall…”, she hums and the gust takes away the rest.
The Wanderer does not answer. He already knew.